


i'm on fire

by ourdarkspirits



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdarkspirits/pseuds/ourdarkspirits
Summary: Katara has a nightmare with unexpected consequences, but she is not alone.





	i'm on fire

**Author's Note:**

> This happened when I discovered Amy Macdonald's cover of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire" and spiraled out of control.

_Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife baby_  
_Edgy and dull_  
_And cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul_

 _At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_  
_And a freight train running through the middle of my head_  
_Only you can cool my desire_

* * *

  
She can see Zuko coming for her. He’s poised for attack and apology is written all over his face. She’s not sure what she’s going to do, but she has to stop him. She throws up her hands, preparing a defense.

 _Oh, no_ , a sinister voice whispers through her mind, and it sounds vaguely familiar. _He must be stopped. You must attack._

She knows, she knows, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. She only wants to stop, to make it stop. She can feel his blood moving through his veins. Without her input, her hands clench, hold onto him, and she sees Zuko collapse before her. She extends her senses, but she can’t feel him. The feeling of his blood, unwanted as it had been, is gone. Her feet draw her closer to him and she kneels down on the grass beside him, searches for a pulse and finds nothing.

***

Katara wakes with a gasp, shooting bolt upright in the soft bed. Her sheets are twisted around her legs and tacky from the sweat drenching her skin. She pulls in several gasping breaths and launches herself out of bed. She can’t stay here, plagued by her nightmares.

She seeks the comfort of the ornamental ponds and drawing water around her, letting it flow with her. She settles into a waterbending stance on the edge of one of the ponds, reaching out. The water is familiar and peaceful at the edge of her awareness and she reaches for it, wanting to draw it near in small waves, but it doesn’t come. Shocked, she tries again. And again. And again. She shouts in frustration. Water has felt like an extension of her senses for so long that she’s forgotten what it feels like to struggle to bend.

Her throat constricts and her heart pounds. She doesn't know what's wrong. Her breath comes faster and she braces her hands on her knees trying to regain control.

She hears a step behind her and whips around, settling into a fighting stance, but the water doesn’t gather around her. Katara feels naked, vulnerable.

“Katara?” Zuko asks, concern written over his face.

Katar drops out of her defensive stance, relief coursing through her. “Zuko.” It comes out like a breath.

He approaches her, and struck by the memory of her nightmare, Katara steps away, hands up. The gesture is terrifyingly familiar and she forces her hands down. Zuko has stopped moving, stance open, showing her he means no harm.

“Katara,” he says again, his voice raw. “What’s wrong?”

She droops and buries her face in her hands, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Katara doesn’t need to look up to know that he has taken a few tentative steps towards her. Since he helped her seek revenge for her mother’s death, she has felt particularly attuned to his presence. When she doesn’t move away from him, he moves closer, until she can feel the heat of his body next to hers. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and throws her arms around him, seeking comfort. Slowly, tentatively, his arms draw up around her, holding her close.

She lingers in his arms and once she feels more in control of her emotions she pulls away, turning her face to look up at him. “I can feel the water all around me but I can’t bend it,” she says.

Katara steps farther away and Zuko lets her. He doesn’t say anything. “I don’t know what to do.”

She drops to the ground, holding herself and Zuko follows. “What happened?”

Katara can’t see him, her face buried in her knees, but she can hear the compassion in his voice. She remembers, then, how he had struggled with his firebending when he had joined them.

“I don’t know.” She pauses, wondering if her nightmare will sound silly. “I had a nightmare and I came outside to do a little waterbending, but I can’t.”

She looks up and is arrested by the look she sees on his face. He reaches out and draws back at the last moment. Katara wishes for a moment that he had followed through, had held her like he wanted to.

“We’ll figure it out, Katara,” he offers. “Just like when I figured out how to get my firebending back. We’ll figure it out.”

A shaky laugh escapes her and she asks, “Think I’ll have to learn some kind of dance like you did?”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a crooked smile and she knows they’re both remembering it, the dance, the way she had teased him before she’d trusted him. “If necessary. But we could always try to figure out what’s wrong first. Better to know the problem before you try to fix it right?”

“Yeah,” she says, and suddenly Katara feels like crying. She buries her face in her knees and doesn’t see the way Zuko looks at her.

“Hey,” he begins after the silence has become too heavy. “Maybe if you told me what happened, we can start figuring it out?”

The dream rises to the surface of her mind and Katara sees Zuko again, lying on the ground, dead. She doesn’t want to tell him. She doesn’t want him to know that she dreamed of his death, that it came at her own hands.

Instead she tells him, “I told you I had a nightmare and I couldn’t go back to sleep.” Zuko nods even though it’s not really what he was asking, but he doesn’t push her for more information. After a moment, she adds, “I thought waterbending would help ease my mind.”

His look is sympathetic, but he doesn’t try to offer her false words of comfort and Katara is grateful. There is nothing he could say that his presence doesn’t say far more effectively. She doesn’t decide to tell Zuko more, just blurts it out as if the words have a mind of their own.

“You died.”

“What?” Zuko asks, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“In my dream,” Katara clarifies. “You died in my dream.”

“I’m still alive,” he tells her as if this is not blatantly obvious. “I’m right here.”

  
“I can see that,” she remarks dryly. It feels better, falling back into the ease that has developed between them, the image of him dead on the forest floor fading with each passing moment.

“And,” he adds, an almost comically serious look on his face, obviously trying to cheer her up, “I’m fully committed to figuring this out with you. You’re not getting rid of me.”

She offers him a smile and it still feels a little shaky. “Thanks, Zuko.”

“We can start in the archives,” Zuko suggests. “Maybe we’ll find some scrolls on waterbending. Something that will explain how someone could lose their abilities.”

“Did the Fire Nation keep records on the people it invaded and subjugated?” Katara asks. She knows the war is over, but the thought of them having records of the other nations during the war makes her uneasy. She wonders if they were stealing from the other nations, collecting secrets as they spread across the world.

“I think the royal archives have scrolls from before the war,” Zuko answers, detecting Katara’s unease. “When there was peace and balance. The archivists prefer to preserve knowledge.”

Katara scoots a little closer to him and leans her head against his shoulder. She doesn’t see the startled look he gives her at her sudden proximity, only feels him stiffen slightly before relaxing again. “Thanks, Zuko.”

After a moment he wraps his arm around her and she settles more closely against him, the weight of his arm over shoulders a comfort. They sit there for a long time in easy silence, looking out over the ornamental pond and Katara feels her eyes beginning to drift shut.

Zuko must notice this, since he gives her a gentle shake and says, “Hey, you should get back to bed.”

Rather than moving away and standing, Katara presses closer to him, turning her face into his shoulder. After another moment, she sighs. “Ok.”

Zuko stands up and offers her a hand, which she takes, letting him pull her up. They walk back into the palace hand in hand and he stays with her until they reach her quarters.

“Good night, Katara,” he murmurs, looking down at her. “I have some meetings in the morning, but, if you want, I can meet you in the afternoon to look through archives.”

It’s more of a question that a statement, as if the thought of Zuko helping her hadn’t eased some of the weight in her chest.

“I would appreciate the help. Maybe while you're trapped in meetings I’ll have tea with Iroh,” Katara replies, a small smile on her face.

Zuko nods, and she turns to her door. “Good night, Zuko.”

When she falls asleep this time, Katara doesn’t dream.

***

  
The next morning, Katara wakes up tired. When she had fallen back into her soft bed, sleep had come to her quickly but the night’s events had still taken their toll. She takes her time dressing. It’s late but Zuko won’t be available until the afternoon and she knows Iroh tends to linger over his tea.

She finds Iroh in the gardens, sitting at a small table underneath a pergola draped with fragrant jasmine vines and he looks so serene sitting there that she almost turns back.

“Good morning, Katara,” Iroh calls, stopping her in her tracks.

“Good morning, Iroh,” she replies, stepping closer, pausing just on the other side of the table where he sits.

Please,” Iroh gestures to the bench across from him, “Sit down. I will pour you a cup of tea.”

“Thank you.” Katara sits down across from Iroh and accepts the cup he offers her. The tea is warm, heat flowing through her hands to the rest of her, and when she takes a sip of it, jasmine, the warmth settles in her stomach. With tea in her hands under the light of day, her situation doesn’t seem quite as dire as it did the night before.

“Is something on your mind, Katara?” Iroh asks, perceptive as always.

She doesn’t know what she wants to tell him. Telling Zuko under the cover of night had been difficult enough. Telling Iroh in the late morning light seems practically impossible.

“Yes,” she finally answers, the simple reply catching in her throat.

“But you are not sure that you wish to discuss it,” Iroh finishes for her.

Katara nods, glad that Iroh understands. She doesn’t know how to tell him about her dream, about trying and failing to bend water.

“I understand, but you should find someone you can talk to,” Iroh tells Katara.

“I have. I spoke to Zuko last night,” Katara reassures him, realizing only after she’s spoken how that might sound.

Iroh doesn’t ask her why she came to be speaking with Zuko last night and she’s not sure whether to feel relieved or not. Instead he says, “That is good. My nephew can be a good listener. And very helpful.”

“I’m meeting him this afternoon,” Katara adds, trying not to reflect too much on Iroh’s knowing look. “He’s helping me.”

“As I said, very helpful,” Iroh confirms with a kind smile. “Until then, I am glad to have such excellent company.”

Katara smiles warmly at him. Iroh has been a source of great comfort to her since the war ended and she chose to stay behind in the Fire Nation. Her friends had gone their separate ways after the war ended. Sokka had returned to Kyoshi with Suki, Toph to Ba Sing Se, though she would be returning soon. Her father had returned to the South Pole, and Aang was traveling. Zuko was around as often as he could be, but he had a nation to rule. Iroh has been there for her, a familiar face, with a kind word and a cup of tea, whenever she begins to feel homesick.

This morning, they discuss the strides Zuko has made rebuilding the Fire Nation, the amount of work he has done to achieve so much in so little time. Iroh lets her guide the conversation as she sees fit, never pushing her to talk about things she doesn’t wish to discuss.

It is a comfort to let her mind drift over more mundane things, to distract herself from the feeling of being powerless. The war is over, but she hasn’t stopped hating that feeling. She has time now and she has help. Katara can afford to spend morning with Iroh, rather rushing headlong into a search she hardly knows how to begin. She is still impatient, but it is not the burning impatience of the past year, driven by fear and made sharp by conflict.

When the sun is high in the sky, Katara takes her leave. “Thank you, Iroh. For everything,” Katara says, feeling lighter than she has since she first woke up.

“You are welcome to join me for tea anytime, Katara. I welcome the company,” Iroh responds.

Katara walks quickly through the garden once she has left Iroh, the weight settling back around her shoulders as she leaves the peace of Iroh’s company, and thinks about the work she has before her.

 

***

  
The archives are in a vast, cool hall where the only sound is the soft footsteps of the archivists. Katara is tempted to wander and explore them but she doesn’t want to miss Zuko. She thinks that as long as she stays in the Fire Nation she’ll have plenty of time to discover what is stored in these archives.

Before she has time to become impatient, Zuko walks through the large double doors. Her heart leaps at the sight of him. She chalks it up to relief that they are going to find out what’s wrong with her and doesn’t think too hard about it.

“Hi,” Zuko says, a look that’s not quite a smile on his face. “My last meeting didn’t take quite as long as I expected. Did you find Uncle Iroh?”

Katara nods. “We had tea, of course,” she adds with a smile, her voice a whisper.

“Jasmine?” Now it’s definitely a smile on his face, a little crooked, but happy all the same.

“Of course,” Katara replies and then lets her gaze wander over the stack. “So, where should we start?”

Rather than answer her, Zuko makes his way to one of the archivists who has just emerged into the foyer. “Excuse me. Where would we find any scrolls about waterbenders?”

The archivist is clearly surprised to have been approached by the Fire Lord with such a request, but his gaze lands on Katara and her Southern Water Tribe colors and his face clears.

“Right this way, Fire Lord,” the archivist answers, leading them deep into the stacks. “All of the records we have of the waterbenders are from before the war,” he explains, as they finally stop before a shelf filled with old, dusty scrolls.

“Thank you,” Zuko replies and the archivist bows and returns to his work. “Where do you want to to start?”

Katara doesn’t answer him right away. She is staring at the scrolls before her in awe. There is so much knowledge there at her disposal. She thinks of all the things she can learn, all the ways she can improve her bending, and it’s that thought that drives her forward. If she can’t find a solution to her current problem, she won’t be able to use any of the information before her.

She lets her hand drift over the scrolls, wondering which one of them will hold the key to unblocking her bending, when she feels Zuko close behind her and sees his hand reach above her to pull a scroll of the shelf.

Katara turns to look at him and sees a sheepish look on his face. He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” she murmurs, caught in his gaze for a long moment.

She feels her cheeks color and clears her throat, turning back to the shelf and choosing a scroll at random. Together, they select a few more scrolls and then make their to a small table set into a niche in the wall.

In the first scroll Katara looks through, she finds formal description of many of the forms she mastered during the war, on the run. She doesn’t ask what Zuko has found, only glances up occasionally to see him dismiss texts after mere moments of perusal. After the first few times, he stops and focuses on the text in front him.

She pulls her gaze away from him and returns to her own research, but nothing is giving her any of the answers she needs. She picks up another scroll, when Zuko speaks.

“This scroll discusses chakras,” he says, still scanning the document before him. “That benders connect to their elements through the relevant chakras.”

“Aang mentioned that after he left Guru Pathik,” Katara says, carefully not mentioning the rest of that time, the tentative trust she had developed in the cave before he chose his father and honor. “He never really explained much of in depth.”

“This author says that a bender’s abilities can be affected when their chakra is blocked,” Zuko continues.

“How does a chakra get blocked?” Katara asks, shifting so she can look at the scroll with him.

“It depends on which chakra it is,” Zuko replies, barely looking up at her as he continues looking through the scroll.

“Ok, how does the water chakra get blocked?” Katara clarifies, feeling a spike of impatience.

“I’m looking,” Zuko says quickly. “Oh. Here it is. It’s blocked by guilt. Maybe you’re feeling guilty about something?”

It’s as if someone has dumped a pail of ice cold water over her and Katara pulls away from Zuko.

“Katara?” Zuko asks and she can’t look at him, can’t meet the concern written on his face. She’s caught in the grips of the dream again, staring down at Zuko, unable to feel the blood moving through his veins, the life singing under his skin.

“I killed you,” she mutters finally, unable to keep it from him any longer, voice barely audible even in the muffled silence of the stacks.

“What?” Zuko asks and she’s not sure if he hasn’t heard her or if her’s confused by what he did did hear.

“I killed you,” she repeats louder, and she feels her cheeks flush as the guilt and horror fill her.

“I’m still alive,” Zuko replies, confused.

“In my dream,” she clarifies. “I killed you in my dream. You were attacking me and I killed you.”

“How?”

Why isn’t he looking at her like she’s a monster? Why is he still looking at her like he wants to help her? Why is he asking her how and not leaving her to sit alone among the scrolls until his guards fetch her?

  
“Katara?” he asks again, reaching out to her, but she flinches away from him and he draws his hand back quickly.

She takes a deep breath. “Just before the eclipse, we stayed with this old woman.” She’s not sure it makes sense, telling him like this, but Katara doesn’t know where else to start. “She was a waterbender and she seemed nice, but strange things were happening in the village. It made Sokka really suspicious so we checked it out and it turned out he was right. She was abducting villagers and controlling them with bloodbending.”

“Bloodbending?” Zuko asks.

“It’s related to waterbending. The bender controls the blood of their victim, in effect controlling them. A bloodbender can kill a person with that control,” Katara explains. “In my dream, it was the only way to stop you, but I went too far. I killed you.”

“That’s what you did when we went after the man who killed your mother, isn’t it?” Zuko asks. He still hasn’t left her.

“Yes,” Katara answers, unwilling to look at him. “And I did it to the woman who was kidnapping villagers, too.”

“What happened?” Zuko asks. “The first time, with the bloodbender.”

“She held me with her power but I broke free. I was stronger than her, so she used Sokka and Aang against me and I trapped them with ice, but when she wouldn't stop, I tried bloodbending on her,” Katara tells him. It feels like a dam bursting. She’s never talked about this before, never had the time to dwell on it, to dwell on much of anything she had done during the war to survive.

“You were defending yourself.” It’s not a question and the way he says it leaves no room for debate, though she tries anyway.

“It was horrible,” Katara says. “To take someone’s blood moving through their veins and know you can stop its flow.”

Zuko is silent and Katara thinks maybe she’s finally managed to push him away, to fully drive home the horrible things she’s done.

“You’re feeling guilty about helping your friends,” Zuko says finally.

“I’m ashamed of using my bending like that, of holding a person’s life in my hands.” Anger flares through and her and suddenly the vast stacks feel too close. She practically runs out of the archives. The sun is hot overhead as she makes her way to a secluded section of the gardens. When she stops, she is breathing heavily, trying to bring her emotions back under control. He hadn’t understood. Of course he hadn’t understood.

“Katara,” she hears him call out. “Katara, I’m just trying to help.”

She considers hiding, but he’s already there, his robes swirling around his legs as he comes to a stop before her.

“I didn’t mean to belittle what you were feeling,” Zuko explains, looking at her intently. “But I don’t think you were wrong to use bloodbending.”

“What about when we went after my mother’s killer?” she asks, arms folded across her chest. “I wasn’t defending myself then.”

“You were angry,” Zuko starts and gives her a quelling look when she opens her mouth to argue. “You were angry and we needed to be quick and stealthy. Maybe it wasn’t the best option, but it made sense tactically. You didn’t kill the men you attacked. You didn’t kill the man with who killed your mother. Katara, using bloodbending didn’t change who you are.”

“So if I just let go of my guilt, I’ll be able to bend again?’ Katara asks, skeptical, her arms folded over her chest.

“I don’t think it will be that easy. You don’t just let go of your guilt,” Zuko answers, and now he’s the one looking away.

She remembers when he had first tried to join their group, how he had tried to introduce himself. He had made amends with each of them, even her, though she hadn’t wanted to trust him, the way he had tried to develop a camaraderie with them with his terrible jokes.

“How?” Katara asks finally. “How do I move on and let it go?”

“Well, you could start by remembering that I’m still here,” Zuko says. “That what could have happened didn’t happen. And,” he adds, “If I started attacking you I would want you to use whatever means necessary to stop me. Katara, I will always want you to survive.”

He looks so earnest, it takes her breath away. Katara doesn’t know what to say. Water tugs at the edge of her consciousness, but she doesn’t want this moment to slip away. Not yet.

“Ok,” she says. “Ok.”

“Aang and Sokka would want that, too,” Zuko adds. “They were probably relieved you stopped the old woman from harming anyone else, including them.”

“Yeah,” Katara acknowledges, and the water is a familiar pull on her senses. She lowers her hands, spreading her fingers. It’s a hum beneath her skin, a feeling of sinking into a deep pool. She pulls her hand forward and hears water ripple behind her.

Zuko isn’t looking at her but past her, where the water has answered her call. She does it again, and he moves closer. Katara leaves herself open to him, dropping her control. She remembers the warmth of against her back in the archives, the comfort of his arm around her shoulder, falling asleep against his side.

When he is closer still, she turns away, facing the water, and settles into an easy stance, resuming her control, pulling the water in waves against the shore of the ornamental pond. Zuko is there at her back, a comforting presence.

After a few more waves, she turns back to him. She still has work to do. The guilt still threatens to overcome her, but she has a way forward now.

“Thank you,” Katara murmurs, moving closer to him until she can put her arms around his waist.

Zuko wraps one arm around her and brings his other hand up to her face so he can look at her fully. “You’re welcome, Katara.”


End file.
